A Fabricated Fairytale
by Skadiyoko
Summary: Arthur is a prodigy magician who works himself too hard. With all of the stressful, sleepless nights piling up, it's no wonder it's so easy to argue with Alastair. Neither of them like their relationship, but both have too much pride to do anything about it. Maybe some outside help and a familiar tale can calm the everlasting storm between these two?
1. Where Am I?

Happy birthday Mana! I love you and sorry this is two months late omg.

Enjoy!

.:.:.:.:.:.:.

High-pitched whistling filled the air. On its burner, the kettle screeched like a harpy, alerting the brunette that the water was ready. The man reached for the handle easily, pouring the hot water into a teapot. Steam rose in swirls in the chilly room, like paint on a third-dimensional canvas. He let the tea steep to his liking, going over his day for those few idle minutes. When it was done, he poured the brew into his cup, milk already waiting, and added two spoons of sugar.

Evan was only one of five men who lived in this house. Which, to the average person, would seem uncomfortable. Standing at only one story, plus a basement, the house was small. Made for three people at the most. If asked, they would only laugh and say it was bigger on the inside. Quite spacious actually, but no one needed to know the details. Especially since they were not allowed to enter the home.

The men that lived there were, in fact, all a part of the magical community.

Not that any normal person would know that. They kept their distance from the house that emitted such a strange aura. Even on the streets they would rarely say hello to Evan or the others. Sometimes he would feel put off by this, but it was for the best. They had a nice life here, in a nice neighborhood, and being found out would be devastating. He didn't want to uproot to somewhere else.

They were a family. Unorthodox, but a family all the same. Out of all of them, though, only two were actually related. The youngest and oldest, Patrick and Brian respectfully, were gone for the time being. Called away to Norway to study an ancient book that was recently discovered. Second to oldest was Alastair, who was the least involved with magic of all of them. Lighting his cigarettes with the snap of a finger and talking to the magical creatures Evan raised was the extent of his interests, and not much else. The Welshman himself was third oldest, and the expert to go to when it came to mythical beasts. They would often be sent to him if they were sick, or found orphaned.

Then there was Arthur. He was the second youngest, and as talented as they came. Arthur and his magic were one and the same. He studies hard, practices often, and experiments as a living. A tremendous amount of his young life has been spent creating new spells of all kinds. Spells ranging from charms, to defence, to hexes, to everything in-between. Sometimes he even fiddled around with potions and magical items. Truly a prodigy, at twenty-six the English wizard has been dubbed as a magical genius.

The downside to this title was his lack of social skills. Spending days alone in the basement, skipping meals and sleep whenever he was making progress will do that to a person. None of them were great at being civil, but Arthur's natural blunt remarks combined with his exhausted moodiness made him the worst. It would always get him in trouble with Alastair, who had the shortest temper of the five. These two negative traits clashed easily, causing the majority of fights in the household. It had gotten to the point where Patrick, Brian, and himself would not bat an eye when voices rose. Louder and louder, until something broke or burned. Another typical day.

Recently, though, something has changed. After an argument, both would sulk instead of steam. Neither were angry much during these times, but sad. Many a time Evan would find Arthur passed out in the basement, a bottle of whiskey laying by some strange form of his housemate. Alastair would also take to the bottle, locking himself in his room in complete silence. It just didn't feel right.

What if...

CRASH!

Caught in his thoughts, the Welshman did not hear the yelling that had been going on in the other room. Sighing, he went to lean against the doorway of the living room. At least his tea was there to help his nerves. Blowing the still steaming drink, he pressed his chilled fingertips firmer on the warm mug. This time he would observe them closely. He would not even be noticed, those two being too caught up with each other.

"Is there something seriously wrong with your head? What the fuck is your problem?" shouted Arthur, emerald eyes glowing fiercely. He stomped his foot, shattering a vase on the other side of the room.

"You are!" bellowed Alastair, baring his teeth wildly as the sofa started to smoke.

"I wasn't even upstairs!" Throwing his hands in the air, paint chips fell from the ceiling. Evan sighed again.

"I've told you time and time again to keep the magic to a minimum when my shows are on! It's annoying when the screen won't stop freezing!"

"Well excuse me for having more important things to focus on than sitting on my arse all day and watching TV!" Arthur was obviously fighting sleep. He had heavy bags under his red eyes, his hair was a complete bird's nest, and his posture looked as if he would fall over if he weren't so tense. It worried Evan, but Alastair did not seem to notice at all.

"I don't watch it all day you little shit, and you know it," growled the Scot, sparks flickering in the air around him.

Flippant, the younger sneered. "Tsk. Whatever. It's still less important than my research."

"Yeah? Then I guess you wouldn't care if I melted all of your Harry Potter and Doctor Who?"

"No!" Arthur immediately yelled, but both froze and turned to the brunette in the doorway. He had jumped forward a little, having yelled in sync with the blonde. Alastair and Arthur cooled down then, both sets of identical eyes dimming to their normal hue.

"Whatever. Watch your stupid show," sighed Arthur, sounding worn out and defeated. "I don't care." As he half-stormed, half-stumbled away, Evan was surprised to see him heading for his room instead of the liquor cabinet. The door shut weakly, echoing louder than any slam would have. As his gaze ran across the trashed room, Evan sighed through his nose. He would be the one to clean all of this up. Stepping over to the window, he pushed it open to let the smoke out.

"I wasn't really going to burn them, Ev."

Shaking his head, the Welshman turned around. As expected, Alastair was sulking, a soft pout to his rough lip. Sinking into the sofa, he crossed his arms, not even paying attention to the television anymore. Evan walked to the back of the sofa, ran a hand through crimson locks, and left the man to his thoughts.

For multiple reasons, but mostly because he was having thoughts of his own, A plan was brewing in his head more hastily than the tea. A plan neither of the two wanted, but what he was sure would relieve the majority of their tension if it worked. The library was where he needed to be, for he needed the perfect book for this one.

.:.:.:.:.

Everything felt fuzzy to Alastair. His head was like marshland, and his body like stone. Definitely not his usual hangover symptoms. But... Now that he thought about it, he never drank before he fell asleep. Which was odd in itself, but he did not want to. He was tired. Tired of himself and Arthur constantly at each other's throats. Of hurting each other. Of wallowing in misery and self-pity. It was like a heavy snake wrapped around his shoulders, weighing him down and constricting around his throat more and more with each spat.

He didn't like the fighting. It left a bad taste in his mouth, and felt as if he would have a stroke at any moment. Teasing? Yes he liked to tease, but it has been a long time since that kind of lighthearted fun. Now it was stinging words, and even physical blows if the fight escalated too much. Alastair hated it. Hated Arthur. No, not Arthur. He hated himself for being unable to control his temper around the younger man. Not that Arthur's bad attitude helped, but something told him if he were more patient things would not be so dissentious. But he just could not help it! Whenever he was around Arthur, his emotions were so jumbled and confused! It was frustrating, and dammit he had no idea what this was doing to him!

Taking a deep breath, he finally opened his heavy eyes. Brows creasing, the Scotsman blinked rapidly. This... was not the living room. Nor was it his bedroom, or any of the other's rooms. None of them had a canopy bed, much less such a high quality silk this one was adorned with. Burgundy and gold decorated the dressings, the sunlight dimmed a rich red as it tried to penetrate the drawn curtains. Alastair felt like he was surrounded by a paper lantern. Upon further inspection, he noticed that he was in silk nightclothes. The fabric was smooth across his skin, and slid against the bed sheets like water. Irritating.

Alastair didn't like any of this.

Flinging the duvet from his body, the redhead pulled back the curtains to be greeted by a stunning sight. He definitely wasn't in their home anymore. He was also wearing one of those long nightshirt things from way back in the 1800s or something. No wonder he felt uncomfortable.

This room was gargantuan. Bigger than all five of their bedrooms put together. The walls were a smooth marble; rich tapestries and huge, elegant paintings hung on them tastefully. A well-made desk was in one corner, while numerous dressers and wardrobes sat against another wall. Various trinkets and shiny things decorated their surfaces like trophies, but there was nothing that looked electronical in the slightest. The windows were large, and there was even a set of glass doors that lead to an outdoor balcony. Deciding that he might get a better idea of his whereabouts if he could see the surrounding area, Alastair went outside. The sight took his breath away.

Spread in front of him was the sea. Sparkling and shimmering in the morning light. Stained rose and yellow, rocking back and forth calmly. Craning his neck behind himself, the redhead saw that he was not just anywhere. He was in a castle. It was awe-inspiring. Golden yellow sandstone made its body, as it also seemed to be built into the cliffside. The tide lapped at the castle's base, and Alastair spotted a long marble staircase at another part of the palace that extended all the way down to kiss the shore. Everything was so... magical. More magical than anything he had experienced back home, and that was saying something.

Speaking of which, the Scotsman was not quite feeling like himself. Something was missing. A part of himself was gone. The usual warmth in his veins was not there anymore, and when he snapped, there was not even a spark. Scared, he focused as hard as he could, but no magic would come to him. Not in the whole half hour he stood on that balcony. Distress set in on him. The emptiness inside of him felt like a cancer. A sickness he would never recover from.

"Fuck!" he shouted to the ocean, kicking the railing. It hurt his bare foot, causing him to curse even more.

"Your... Your Royal Highness?"

Startled, Alastair jumped and swiftly pivoted around. Standing before him was a pretty young woman. She was dressed in a long black dress, sleeves extending down her arms while a high collar covered her neck. An apron was tied neatly around her waist, and her dark blonde hair was tied in a bun. Having been witness to the redhead's temper, her face was understandably fearful, brown eyes wide and looking in different directions.

That was of no importance compared to what she had just addressed him as. Royalty. "Yes...?" he lowered his chin, and felt a headache coming on. This was all too much.

"I came to awaken you, and assist you into your attire, but you were already out of bed." Biting her lip, she thought for a moment before deciding to speak up. "Is there something... troubling my prince this morning?" she asked smally, hands fiddling with her apron.

Quelling his rage, Alastair took a deep breath. This was a dream. Yes, that made sense. He fell asleep on the couch after the argument, and he was only having a lucid dream. It was as simple as that. Craning his neck to look over the ocean once more, he smiled. Never before has he had one with such detail.

Dream or no, it still was not acceptable to make a lady feel uncomfortable. Turning back to her, he quirked a reassuring smile. "Yes, everything is fine. I was just woken up by a dream."

"Oh," she mouthed, and put on her own shining smile. "I am relieved that it was but a dream! It would not be favorable if His Majesty was distraught on his birthday!"

"Birthday?" he parroted, shocked.

Covering her pink lips with a delicate hand, the maid giggled. "My, that must have been quite the dream if it made you forget such a holiday!" She stepped to his bed, short heels clacking on the floor. There were clothes laid out on it. They were all clean, and he could see the boots shining from where he stood. "And such a momentous one at that! Ah, sixteen. You're a man now, Prince Alastair."

Gawking, his head shot down to look at his body, Nothing but his feet was visible because of the large nightgown, but when he felt his face there was no hair, and his large sideburns were almost non-existent. He really was only sixteen in this dream. And a man? Boy he really was back in time, huh? Shaking out of his stupor, he approached the girl. She immediately began to unbutton his shirt, and he stepped back quickly, face heating up. "Sir?" she questioned, hazelnut eyes round and head tilted in confusion. "Are you sure you're feeling well?"

Alastair scratched the back of his neck stiffly. Would it be rude to tell her he could dress himself? This kind of treatment was unheard of to him. It was both embarrassing and awkward, making him feel like some kind of invalid. This maid, though, was completely at ease. Does she do this every morning? Well... why not? It was just a dream. "Ah, yes sorry. Your hands were cold is all," he said weakly. Being pampered like this shouldn't be too bad. Hell, he should revel in it! Especially when a cute girl was willing to undress him. Maybe he could even have a little fun with it?

For the next fifteen minutes Alastair teased the maid. Puffing out his chest when her hands were working near it. Smirking down at her whenever their eyes met, and spreading his legs just a little more than was necessary when she was slipping on his trousers. Whenever he could he would bend in close, making sure to breathe on her ear. By the time he was fully clothed, the smaller blonde was red with fluster. Cute.

"Thank you," he said, doing his best to stop a shit-eating grin from splitting his face.

Taking a deep breath, she took a few steps back and cleared her throat softly. "Of c-course, Your Highness. Um, breakfast should be ready shortly."

Nodding, Alastair subtly shifted in his clothes. The shirt was light and linen, contrasting with his heavy black trousers. Those polished, knee-high boots covered his feet, his toes still barely throbbing from earlier. It was not uncomfortable, and he was thankful for that. Compared to the maid at least, whose dress looked constricting. "Would you mind escorting me to the dining hall?" he asked pleasantly. Though the woman's brows creased in puzzlement, she nodded. As they made their way through the unbelievable castle, the Scotsman made sure to keep her cheeks painted apple with smooth compliments and "aloof" innuendo.

Never could he have been prepared for the day he had ahead of him.

.:.:.:.:.

Consciousness slowly ebbed into Arthur. His body felt both like lead and cotton at the same time. There was something else as well, and it did not take long for him to realize that something was terribly wrong. Everything felt different. Like his body was foreign, inside and out. Snapping his eyes open, he quickly shifted them back and forth. What he saw was both beautiful and terrifying.

For one, he was underwater. In a sort of weightless matter, he was laying on a bed of seaweed. The room he was in was spacious, but bare. Coral made the walls, its pink color tinged with blues. Windows in the coral were barred with amber grates spread wide enough for someone to squeeze through. Flora decorated the walls, growing by themselves in rainbows around the room. The sight was like something out of a fairytale, but Arthur was still frightened. He was not home.

Sitting up, he then examined himself. After his previous analysis he was expecting what he saw, but it still shocked him more than he expected. The immediate change he saw was his legs, or, a lack thereof. Glittering green scales shined back at him, multicolored undertones gleaming as the water shifted. He tried lifting the large tail, and it did what he commanded, hovering in the water like a gliding bird. Tentatively he reached out to rub it, leading to the discovery of his webbed fingers. The digits were long, slim, and absent of nails. His skin was also unusual. It was almost clear he noticed, and looking at his arms there were some sort if fins jutting from his elbows to his wrists.

As he ran his palms over the smooth scales of his tail, he sighed. Even breathing felt weird. It was like he was not getting enough oxygen, but he wasn't suffocating either. Arthur could feel the water rush into his mouth, but then flow from the gills slitting across his ribs. Feeling around his face and head, he was thankful that everything seemed normal there. It was a small piece of comfort he could cling to.

"Okay," he mumbled aloud, not expecting his voice to be as clear as it was. Honestly, it was downright musical. Maybe something in his ears was different too, so he could hear in water. "Okay," he repeated louder. Surer. "So I'm a merman. But why?" Closing his eyes, Arthur thought back to his last memory. He and Alastair got into another brawl, and he went and locked himself in his room to cool down.

A pang shot through his chest. He hated those fights. They got completely out of control, and did nothing but hurt everyone who was near enough to get caught in the cross fire. Why couldn't they settle their differences peacefully? At the very least without getting physical. Arthur has had his share of burns, some which have scarred, and have given his share as well. Sometimes he would be on the verge of breaking down in front of Alastair. Letting his frustrated tears fall right there, and question why they did what they did. But his pride would always swell to the point of pain before he ever got the chance.

None of that explained why he was a merman sitting in some house at the bottom of the ocean (or wherever he was). Deciding to try and move, the Englishman found that swimming came naturally to him. It was like his body had memorized it, but his mind was not used to it. Therefore the simplest thing to do was throw his movement to his instincts. Doing a few laps around the room, he had to admit that the absence of gravity was fun.

Once Arthur was comfortable with swimming, he sat in the seaweed once more. Already knowing what would happen, he attempted to cast a few spells anyway. Just like he had expected, none of them worked. His magic was gone. Or, at least the great magic he knew. There was something else there. An alien magic that could not be acquired by humans, but it was unfamiliar and small, and he had no idea how to use it. A horrible emptiness settled in him, and he felt ill. Like a great torch had been extinguished inside of him, and in its place was a birthday candle. This was not just some dream, and nauseating anxiousness swirled inside of him. Was he all alone here? Maybe Alastair or Evan were here as well? Those thoughts gave him a little ease, but then his attention was taken by someone entering his room.

"Oh, Arthur, you're awake!" She swam forward, long, thick blonde hair dancing in the water, and hugged him to her bare bosom. Well, that made sense he guessed. Not many materials to make clothing with at the bottom of the ocean. Though he was a bit flustered, it was not full out mortification. The hug was sweet, and a body was only a body. "Our sisters and grandmother are waiting for us! Are you excited?" she asked with a wide smirk. Her teeth were sharp, causing him to prod his tongue across his own jagged mouth. Ouch. But her face was gorgeous and glowed with excitement, taking away any viciousness from the smile.

"Ah, excited?" he questioned as she took his arm in hers and headed out of the room.

Pretty blue eyes blinked down at him in bafflement. "Yes, excited! Don't tell me you've forgotten what day it is! You have not stopped talking about it for months! Which is most noticeable since you're so quiet," she giggled, but frowned when she got no response. Halting, she put a creamy hand on his shoulder and looked straight into his eyes. "It's your fifteenth year, remember? Today you're going up to the surface!"

It was in that moment everything clicked for Arthur. This was a familiar story. The Little Mermaid to be precise, a story he had always enjoyed. He even owned a custom book; a gift from a friend in Norway. Being so busy, it had been a while since he has read it, but he could remember everything clearly. With that in mind, being in the role he was in did not make him happy. This was no Disney movie.

On the other hand, knowing what was supposed to happen helped, and he could avoid the ending of this story. He would go through with his first trip to the surface, rescue the prince, and dedicate the rest of his time to finding a way home. With that new plan thrown together, he smiled at his "sister". "Oh! Right! I'm sorry, I was still waking up. But yes, I am so terribly excited!" he assured. Immediately, she brightened up, and they continued their way out of the castle.

"Your brain is always in the shallows. I guess I should not have been so surprised that you had forgotten," tittered the mermaid, squeezing his arms warmly.

The castle's courtyard was fantastical. Large trees blooming bright flowers lined it while seaweed, coral, and other underwater life forms scattered around it in pretty patches. But it was the sand that blew him away. In all his life, the Englishman had never seen such a color. It was a glowing blue, tinted with purple and pink and red, and it was everywhere. His breath caught. Awaiting him, though, was the rest of the sisters, so he could not gawk for long. There was also an old, bony woman with them. Her brow was noble, and her skin was stretched tight around her skeleton. She must have been beautiful when she was younger, Arthur mused. Now, though, she was only a proud soul in a withered, wrinkled body. It was even more prominent as she was surrounded by her young, healthy granddaughters.

"Arthur," she greeted as they approached. An odd, dry smile cracked at her lips, but it was gone just as quickly as it came. "Well, now you're all grown up." Nodding, the blonde ignored his 21st century brain snarkily telling him that fifteen was far from all grown up. Not to mention that he was in all actually a twenty-six-year-old wizard. It was all too confusing to think about, so he simply went with the flow. "I shall now adorn you like your siblings."

Here she rose a wreath of white lilies, a half of a pearl tying each flower, upon his head. It felt heavy, and Arthur would much rather have it off. Next she called eight big oysters to attach themselves to his tail. Unable to hiss underwater, he sucked the liquid through his teeth at fhe pain. It was awful, and his tail twitched in disagreement.

Scrutinizingly, his grandmother watched, her head cocked and eyes unreadable. The pain never went away, but it did subside after some time had passed. Empathy shone in his sister's eyes, them having to go through the same ritual for their fifteenth year. One even touched one of her oysters gingerly, a slight pout to her coral lips. Gritting his teeth, Arthur forced himself to right his posture. The old woman seemed pleased with this. "Go," she then ordered.

Looking at his rejuvenated sisters, all knowing smiles and shimmering eyes, he nodded. Beating his numbing tail, Arthur rose through the sea. As he tilted his head skyward, he noticed that the sun was barely visible, and looked like a great purple flower. Another kind of beauty he never knew existed. It was odd being able to go in any direction. Not having to care about gravity pulling him downwards was thrilling. As the castle got further and further away, shrouding itself in the murky depths, he let himself loosen up a little. Maybe more than a little, as he was off twirling through currents, flipping through schools of fish, and even dancing with some of the more rambunctious sea life. It was invigorating, and for the first time in what felt like years, Arthur genuinely laughed. Giggling to himself, he righted his form and pet the fish still around him. The surface was closer than before, and he headed there once more. Red-orange sunset was magnified through the clear water, making it feel like Arthur was ascending into a thick, autumn forest top.

Breaching the surface, it was more than relieving to take in a large breath of air. There was no need to syphon water, so most of it went straight to his lungs, filling them to the max as air bubbles popped around his gills. It calmed him heavily, and the blonde took a moment to appreciate this wondrous oxygen. He would never take it for granted again. Laying back, Arthur took a moment to float on the sea foam and gaze at the darkening sky. With no buildings or pollution to delude the vividness of the sky, he felt like he could get lost in its foreverness. On one side of him was land; beachy shores, lush forests, and mountains stood tall in the close distance. On the other was nothing but glittering sea, mirrored surface reflecting the rose colored sky for as far as his eyes could take him. Sighing, the man faintly thought that he would not have minded living centuries ago. He had always thought he was born too far into the future.

Before he could completely lose himself in his thoughts and serenity, Arthur's ears picked up some distant sounds. Correcting his stance, he turned to see a great ship behind him. It was lovely, slick wood coasting on the water like a great bird. Only one sail was erect, and music swept along the evening breeze. Instantly the Englishman knew that was the royal ship, and began to swim to it. Might as well see such a magnificent ship close up before it was completely destroyed.

Swimming above the water was a little awkward. Arthur's tail kept splashing too hard, and his arms were difficult to coordinate with everything else. With resignation, he dove underwater once more. Really, he preferred breathing above the surf, but he was so much faster submerged. Annoyed, he chided himself and sucked it up. He would just have to get used to it.

As he neared the grand boat, the intricate craftsmanship became clear. Algae and barnacles may have coated the underside, but the rest was kept in tip-top shape. The wood was thick and sturdy, hull keeping it buoyant with ease. Gazing up at the towering trio of masts, he noticed the two lowered sails limply fluttering in a melancholy sway. Loud, happy music played in the air, echoing through the twilight as sounds of merriment mingled with the water.

Curious, Arthur swam forward even more. With the help of the waves he could reach an open cabin window to latch onto. With the weight of his heavy tail, and the crashing of the rocking waves, it was difficult to keep a firm grip. Adjusting, he peered through the window. The people were all dressed so lavishly, it was almost too much for the merman to take in. Long, floor-length gowns adorned the women. Elegant embroidery was sewed into the heavy fabric in tasteful swirls and patterns. The waist was high, and the collars low and teasing. Gloves ran up some of their arms, short, poofed sleeves covering their shoulders where their hair fell in loose buns. The men wore high boots over their leather breeches. Expensive waistcoats and overcoats decorated their torsos, fine material neat and eye-catching. All of these period clothes were fascinating, and Arthur gobbled up the images as if he were starved. But then a flash of red caught his attention.

There, enlightened by the dozens and dozens of paper lanterns, was Alastair. Dressed a little less formally than everyone else, Arthur distantly thought how that was so like him. In retrospect, the Briton was surprised he had not noticed him earlier. He stood out like a sore thumb; tall, broad, pale, and messy. His steps were anything but fluid, and his grin too wide and wild amongst the classy guests. In Arthur's defense, the Scotsman was also a lot younger looking. Snapping out of his astonishment, Arthur tried to get the man's attention without attracting the any of the other partygoers. Unfortunately without magic it was impossible. Alastair was too much of a blockhead to be drawn by subtle movements alone.

Growling lowly, emerald eyes watched as another man came and clasped the redhead on the shoulder. After a few words, they both went on deck. As he stepped out, the loud boom of a cannon vibrated the area. Startled, Arthur lost his already strained grip and fell into the ocean with an undignified splash. A couple of curious humans looked overboard at the sound, but the merman stayed shrouded in the dark sea. Figuring it was only a fish, they lost interest soon enough and went back to enjoying the show.

Fireworks beneath the water were lovely. The sky exploded in intense rainbows. Like shooting stars shattering above their heads. He popped his head out sometime during the show, and let himself forget about everything for a while. The sea was calm, bobbing like a mother bounces her babe on her lap. It was soothing, and dare he say it, magical.

Arthur knew when the last explosive was fired. Claps and cheers were heard instead of the boom of the gunpowder. Green eyes found Alastair once more, and softened at the sight. He looked so happy standing on a ship full of strangers, celebrating a fake birthday in a way more extravagant than any of his real ones had ever been. In a world without television, without the internet, cars, or anything else Arthur thought he depended on, Alastair was more alive than ever. More carefree in these simple times. His usually hunched shoulders were relaxed, and scruffy brows smooth. Arthur's heart ached.

Suddenly a large wave washed over him, submerging the blonde and even throwing him for a loop. Oh no. Darting back up he saw dark, dangerous clouds that he had not noticed until now. Before they could have been mistaken as smoke from the fireworks. But no, the smoke had mostly cleared. These were storm clouds, and Arthur knew just what kind of storm they were about to deliver. Even his very bones were pulsing with a warning, spiking his adrenaline.

Lightening struck in the distance, the always accompanying roar of thunder not far behind. No wonder the crew had been taken off guard, since it was like a fireworks show Mother Nature herself organized. The sailors scrambled all around, faces stoney as they rose all of the sails in an attempt to get to shore quicker. Arthur's chest hurt, because he knew they would not be able to make it, and there was nothing he could do to stop their impending crisis. Jarring waves rose to what seemed to be three stories high, crashing into the powerful craft. It would sink under the angry sea, but fought its hardest to rise back above the foam. Such a scene was terrifying to watch, especially when one particular wave cracked the main mast right in two. Splintered wood flew and rocketed into the water, and even Arthur had to be careful to not get hit.

Now instead of jolly music and singing, the air was filled with shouts and screams. Boots pounded back and forth on the deck as civilians clung onto anything sturdy for dear life. Flailing about like a fish out of water. Flinching at the unhelpful simile, the merman did his best to keep up with the whiplashing vessel. Another wave hit, turning the royal boat on its side. More waves descended, giving no opportunity to let her right herself.

This was it.

Blackness covered everything. The only chances Arthur could see was when lightning flashed. Everyone was shouting, holding on to large pieces of wood and helping those struggling in the ocean. Alastair was not visible though, and the blonde cursed and dove to search for him. Of course the most cliché thing had to happen to him, he grumbled inaudibly.

Panic soon overtook him. Where was Alastair? Frantically searching, Arthur swam around until he finally glimpsed that striking red hair. Dashing to the Scot, he immediately hooked his arms under his armpits and shot upwards. Swimming with such a large, bulky man in his arms was hard, but Arthur was determined. No matter how much they butted heads, he needed to save Alastair. The last thing he would wish would be for his death! He cared about the idiot, no matter what he said. This may be a fairytale, but knowing as little as he does about how they got here, death could be more permanent than he would like to think.

Above the water, Alastair was unresponsive. Though he was breathing shallowly, and the merman hurried to shore. Dammit, why did it have to be so far away?! Steeling himself, Arthur pumped his tail as hard as he could. The faint thumping against his fingertips hit him harder than any of the pelting rain or hail. Pushing himself, no matter how exhausted he was, no matter how hard his body screamed at him, he swam to shore. With the help of the waves, he eventually made it.

Soreness overrode his senses, but tired as he was physically, mentally his mind was racing. Stay away from the church. Hide somewhere where he could wait for Alastair to wake. Discovering a river leading into a thick forest, Arthur headed there. The trees were the perfect protectors, and he laid the redhead on the bank. Parts of the Englishman began to shut down, and he let them. He was about to pass out, but had to check Alastair's pulse once more. It was getting stronger, thankfully, and that relief let him fall back into the river. Sinking to the bottom, he used the last of his strength to nestle himself between two large, smooth rocks so he would not drift with the current. Closing his eyes, he let himself rest.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.

Apparently I really like Arthurs with scales? :(a

If you haven't read the original Little Mermaid, then you really should because it's fantastic.

If there are any Americanisms in the dialogue, please tell me! I didn't even think twice about not attempting to write a Scottish accent. But, like, I've heard Scottish people before and either they were weird Scottish people, or people just reeeeeeally over exaggerate that accent? Haha.

Btw if you needed it  
Ireland: Brian  
North Ireland: Patrick  
Wales: Evan  
Scotland: Alastair

Anyway, point out any other mistakes you see as well please! This should be, like, 3 parts. That's what I'm planning at least. See you soon! vuv/


	2. I Just Want To Go Home

Sorry for the wait! Lots of stuff has been hindering my writing time! D:

.:.:.:.:.:.:.

Dawn rose the next morning, but the watercolor pinks and oranges painting the sky were lost on Alastair. The thick brush of viridian trees shielded emerald eyes from the roseate sky, only scattered sunbeams penetrating the foliage and dotting the forest floor. Birds chirped all around, and rustling of leaves could be heard as woodland creatures scampered by. All of this raw beauty was lost on the Briton. For the the second day in a row he felt like shit, but this time was much worse. Sand paper seemed to replace his tongue, and somehow his head felt ten times heavier even though he was laying down. He was sore, cold, and stiff all over; like he had been in a losing fistfight, and abandoned in an alley for the night. Overall, this was the worst Alastair has ever felt in his life.

Groaning pitifully, he squinted his eyes open. It was adequately dark, and for that he was grateful. Yet he was not expecting to, once again, wake up in a place he did not recognize. Memories from the previous day trickled back into his mind. Though his head pounded, he could remember everything. From waking up in that room as a prince, to all of the delicious food, to hundreds of people wishing him a happy birthday, to the grand celebration on that beast of a ship. And boy, wasn't that something else! Dancing, talking with his guests, and the fireworks show were all just too extraordinarily enjoyable! The happy thoughts eased his headache a little.

But then, he remembered, there was a storm. A storm the size of which he had never seen. It had hit without mercy, and everything turned to chaos. Alastair remembered saving a woman from being hit by one of the masts, and right after a monstrous wave toppled the ship completely. He had hit his head against something, and then everything went black.

Was he still in the same world? Alastair didn't know. He was also suspecting that this was not a dream at all. It was too long. Too vivid. He would have woken up by now. Which lead the Scotsman to his next problem: How was he going to get home without any magic? After a while, he had completely forgotten about his problem yesterday. Having so much fun, he was never inclined to fuss over it. This body was different as well. Not only in age, but completely new because he had yet to crave a cigarette. Something bigger than a dream was happening, and that fear from the previous morning was sneaking inside of him once more.

Sitting up, he scanned his surroundings as best as he could with a still throbbing skull. The forest was vast, but most of the trees were more tall than thick. Flowing in front of him was a river, and his raw throat spasmed with excitement at the prospect of cool, soothing water. Crawling to the edge, which was literally right at his feet, he kneeled above the babbling water and cupped his hands. Alastair drank greedily, uncaring of the rivulets of liquid spilling from the corners of his mouth, running down his jaw and into the collar of his stiff shirt. Once his burning thirst quelled, he splashed his face to wake himself up more. It felt nice against his hot cheeks and forehead, easing what felt like a small fever. As he looked down to scoop up another handful, something caught his eye.

Due to the disturbing ripples, the object was hard to make out. There was a definite shape, though. Blotches of green, pale, and yellow reflected on the surface... and... and-! "Shit!" he shouted, suddenly wide awake and diving into the river. There was a person at the bottom! Not just any person, he soon figured out, but Arthur! Lashing his arm out, Alastair grabbed the other's wrist and yanked him up. Luckily the river was not very deep, so he exploded out of the water with his housemate quickly. Flinging him on land, Alastair frantically scrambled over to examine his body. "You better not be dead!" he exclaimed, accent becoming thick with worry.

"I'm not dead!" Freezing at the shout, Alastair blinked and glanced down. Staring back at him was a very alive, very alert Englishman. Like he wasn't just unconscious at the bottom of a river. The redhead felt his face heat, and his headache worsening and pounding against his skull. "Jesus Allie, calm the fuck down I'm fine!"

Sitting back, he glared at Arthur. "How the bleedin' fuck are you fine?! You were drowning!" he shouted in exasperation, giving the crown of lilies on the blonde's head a funny, but disregarding look. In response, Arthur let his head flop back and pointed downwards. Following his finger, the Scot finally registered that he was shirtless. Also there was a huge, thick tail where his legs should be. How the hell did he miss that? "Wha' the fuck?" he groaned, flopping onto his back and covering his eyes with a forearm. "As if things weren't strange enough."

A sigh came from beside him, but he stayed in position. "What a way to thank the man who saved your life," grumbled his friend. Piquing Alastair's interest, he sat up, but not without making a show of it.

"Hn?"

"I'm the one who saved you from drowning last night during the storm."

Shock set into his nerves, and though they were frazzled from the news, he was calm. "You were there?"

"Yeah, but you're so dense you didn't notice me trying to get your attention from the bloody window." Rolling his eyes, Alastair would have thought he were annoyed if it was not for the slight raise of his lips. Now that his adrenaline had worn off, he could also notice a change in Arthur's voice. It was lighter, higher than usual. It sounded like he was singing, but he was only talking. Alastair really examined the Englishman now, and for sure he found that he was much younger as well. The wrinkles between his brows and around his eyes were gone. Adding the fact that his jaw was not as square and his cheeks still retained some baby fat, Arthur's appearance was more youthful than ever. His skin was also a shade of pale he had never seen before, which must have had to do with his new species. Those amazing scales were immaculate, but the man was confused as to why there were oysters clamped onto it. It looked painful.

"What's up with the flowers and the shellfish?" he asked, disregarding the previous conversation because this was bothering him more.

Big green eyes blinked at him, then scowled at their tail. "Ugh, it's this merpeople ritual they do when you turn fifteen. And of course I'm a prince, so I get more than normal." Glaring at the oysters for a few more moments, Arthur reached down to start prying one apart. "Could you help me get them off?"

"Sure," nodded Alastair, and took hold of one, "So, you're a prince too, huh?" he questioned conversationally. "I just turned sixteen yesterday, apparently."

Pain contorted the merman's face, but he kept working on the oyster. "Yes I know."

"Oh. You overhear someone on the ship?"

"No, I knew before that."

Rubbing his lips together, Alastair peeked up at the blonde. "How's tha'?"

Gritting his teeth, Arthur tensed the small muscles in his arms to pry the last shellfish open. Gingerly rubbing his tail, he gave his attention to the redhead. "Because I know this story."

"Story?" he encouraged, unappreciative of the other's crypticness.

"Yes, story." Taking the lush crown from scalp, fighting with the tangled tufts of hair for a moment, he threw it aside with a sense of finality. "We're in a fairytale. I'm sure you've heard of The Little Mermaid?"

Furrowing his brows, Alastair sat back on his palms. "Yeah. I mean, I saw the movie when I was a lad." Scoffing, he rolled his neck. "You trying ta tell me we're in that story?"

"Precisely." nodded the merman. Webbed fingers were picking at virid scales, drawing in Alastair's attention once more. "Ah," at the noise he looked back up to Arthur, who was shifting uncomfortably," do you think you can help me back into the water? My tail feels itchy... I think.."

"Oh, right. Yeah sure." Standing, he hooked his arms under Arthur again. He was glad the river was right there, because even though Arthur's body was small, his tail was a heavy, solid chunk of muscle.

"Thanks," he mumbled once he was in. Resting his finned arms on the grassy bank, he continued his explanation. "Yes we are in that story, but the original, not the movie. They are very different from one another."

"Hmm, I don't think I've read the original," mused the Scot.

"Of course you haven't," Arthur shot back demeaningly, but Alastair let it pass. He didn't think Arthur meant it like that. Maybe it was in more of a teasing way? No malice, but something playfully sarcastic? In that moment Alastair realized that they had been talking for a long time now, and no arguments had broken out. They've even been smiling! The atmosphere was forgiving, and this was the kind of conversation with Arthur he had been longing for. Not the specific topic, because Alastair would have never guessed they would have been put into this situation, but the tone. A warmth swam into his chest, and he found he quite liked it.

"Sorry, I'm not the kind of person who has his nose stuffed in books at every hour of the day," he joked back.

Emerald irises rolled, and a smirk pulled at the blonde's lips. "Whatever. Anyway, the original story doesn't exactly have a happily ever after ending."

"Yeah? What happens then?" The redhead was laying on his stomach, stretching his back out in a deliciously painful way.

"The little mermaid dies," he answered pointedly.

Alastair almost choked on air. From what he remembered from the film, Ariel kills that octopus witch, marries the prince, and they live happily ever after and have a kid in the second film. Which was a lot different than her dying. But that was not what was making him so upset. Obviously Arthur was in the little mermaid's role, and that revelation made Alastair's chest clench. But Arthur was gazing at him amusedly, and he glowered. "What's so fuckin' funny? This means you're gonna die, idiot!"

"No, no," chuckled the Englishman. "I'm not, because I know how to prevent that from happening. We don't have to worry about it." Looking around the forest, he gestured to Alastair. "We've already altered a part of it. I was supposed to take you to the beach, where your future wife would find you and call for help, but I didn't. He smiled at Alastair. "We can change our fates, no matter what the story says."

Drooping his head, the older Briton put his face to the ground, smearing his cheek with damp dirt. "That's all fine and dandy, but I'd rather be home. This was fun for a while, but I thought it was all just a dream 'ntil this morning..."

Arthur patted one of his arms with a wet hand. "Yeah, I miss home too. But don't worry, I'm sure we'll find a way out of here."

"How?"

"Well, I was planning on visiting the sea witch." Out of the corner of his eye, Alastair saw Arthur sorrowfully gazing at his hands. "I... don't have my magic here... I have merpeople magic, but I don't know how to use it." Locking his eyes with the redhead, he smiled sadly. "I assume yours is gone as well?"

Sighing through his nose, he nodded. Without that wonderful life flowing through him, he felt so empty and weak. Alastair's spark was gone, bringing on gray listlessness. It was awful.

"That's why I'm hoping the sea witch can help. Maybe she can help me figure out this magic, or has some way I can communicate with our world. With Evan, or Patrick, or Brian. ...Assuming they aren't here, that is."

"I haven't seen them," offered Alastair. "But tha's a good plan. I don't really know anything about this place, so you tell me what I should do ta help."

"Right. Well..." Arthur was silent for a minute, thinking. "Since the story is from the mermaid's point of view, I don't have a clue as to what the prince did when she was away from him. Maybe look through your library? See if there's any books that could help?"

"Do you really think that I'll find anything that could help?"

"No idea, honestly."

"Fantastic."

Groaning, Arthur slipped lower into the water. "Give me a break, I'm just as lost as you are here." Sighing, he lazily flapped his tail to steady himself against the current. "Oh, have you seen those stairs that go all the way down to the sea?"

"In the castle? Yeah."

"Go down them tonight. I'll meet you there and we can talk. It'll be like a meeting point.

"'Kay."

For a while, the air was void of voices. The morning was chilly, especially so in his soaking clothes, and Alastair could not help but shiver. It did not seem to bother Arthur, which was very unfair in his opinion. All of this new information was keeping his mind busy though. It was a lot to take in, but he was managing it. Still, how the hell did they get here? Arthur was just as clueless, and he knew it wasn't some drunk spell gone wrong because he went straight to his room after their fight. So what the fuck was going on?! Blowing a piece of grass that was tickling his nose, Alastair rolled over to sit up when it only came back to tickle it some more.

"I guess we should get going?" They were not getting anything done by just laying around. He did not know how long it would take for Arthur to go and see the sea witch, and did not want to delay any hope of them getting home. Also, the redhead really wanted to get out of those clothes. Something warm to eat sounded heavenly as well.

"Right." The Englishman closed his eyes for a few calming seconds. Successfully collected, he pointed behind Alastair. "Go that way. I'll meet you tonight, okay?"

"Yeah, I'll be there."

Nodding, Arthur waved, and dove under the water. Alastair watched that spot for a short moment, and just as he was about to turn around, there was a splash as the blonde popped back up. Startled, Alastair stumbled back a few paces, but the other ignored that. "I almost forgot! Decline any notions of marriage. You'll most likely spend the majority of today with a doctor or something, but just remember. Turn down any girls who are brought to you, okay? We need to stall this story for as long as possible."

Oh, right. He was a prince. A man as of yesterday. It made sense that they would immediately begin trying to marry him off. Snorting, Alastair waved his hand. "Like I'd be interested in any of that shit right now anyway."

Chuckling, Arthur shook his head and flicked some water at him. "Yeah, yeah. As long as you know." They stayed there for another minute, awkward. "Well... I'll see you later then," he finally said, and left for good.  
Shaking his head, Alastair headed back to civilization. He would not think about the easy smile marring his face. He wouldn't.

.:.:.:.:.

Arthur had no trouble finding his kingdom. He had some sort of internal sonar that told him exactly where to go. Keeping stealthy, he went to his garden instead of his room. Each princess (and himself) had their own plot, and he found his easily. A large tree resembling a weeping willow stood in it, the rose-colored petals hanging elegantly. Dotting around the rest of the plot were dark red and blue flora, all made even more breathtaking from the glowing sand. Under the tree stood a statue, and Arthur deadpanned at Alastair's chiseled marble face grinning at him.

Laying against the trunk, he closed his eyes and thought hard about the story. Where did the sea witch live again? A ways away, and through some whirlpools, right? There were other things, but he couldn't quite remember what they were. So deep in thought, Arthur did not hear someone approaching.

"Brother?"

Startled, the blonde jerked and floated from the tree. In front of him was one of his sisters; pretty with the same pearl skin as his own, only with contrasting jet-black hair. Her dark eyes gazed at him with reason, and she sat down on the soft sand in front of him. Full lips were pursed, like they desperately needed to say something, but she kept quiet. Righting himself, Arthur cleared his throat lightly. "Sister, did you need something?"

Once more did her eyes scan his body before locking with his own. "You have removed your ranking mark," she stated, and Arthur's hand went to rub his no longer painful scales.

"I did not like them," he explained cooly.

"Grandmother will not be pleased." Her bow lips wore a worried frown.

"It is my life, any my body, not hers. I am the only one who is allowed to decide what I do and do not adorn." Dark eyes widened, and the mermaid's lips rubbed together in racing thought. Her own delicate hands went to prod at the oysters attached to her dark blue tail. Arthur's joined them, and he smiled gently. "You know, I think your tail would look much better without them."

Sitting thoughtful, she shook her head. Arthur had a feeling that she just may do exactly what he had done if her expression was anything to go by. Though it will more than likely be more difficult and painful since hers have been sealed on for years. Living by your own standards and ridding yourself of your shackles is worth it, he thinks. Freedom is something you often have to pay greatly for, but in the end it's the most precious thing to own.

"What did you see on your first trip to the surface?" she asked, wanting to change the subject. He let her.

"It was... beautiful," he answered truthfully. "There was a ship full of humans. They were dancing, and then they lit- ..er, they made giant, glowing flowers in the sky!" His sister was obviously entranced, so he smiled and continued to illustrate the wondrous setting with his words. "And once they bloomed, they fell out of the sky and disappeared."

"Wow," she whispered, scooting closer. "Was there anything else?"

Grinning, Arthur moved closer as well. Until their fins were touching. This feeling was amazing to the Englishman. As an only child, he had never experienced life with a sibling, Alastair and the others were as close as it got, but he never felt comfortable talking with them like this. Huddled together, telling tales like they were secrets. It was uplifting, and fun in an odd way.

Of course, it would probably be different if he actually spent quality time with his housemates. Being so busy and locking himself in the basement so he would not be disturbed was not the right way to build relationships. Was that really how someone should live their life? Was he honestly happy with that? The more Arthur thought, the more he was unsure. Did he spend Christmas with everyone last year? When are their birthdays? He could hardly remember his own as it was...  
And here he was, practically sitting on his fake sister's lap, describing a world they were both foreign to. Enjoying himself much more than he ever could in that cold, dark basement. This was something he seriously needed to think about. It was important, he knew, and Arthur already vowed to make a better effort at spending time with his family. Now was not the time to think too deeply, though. Later.

"Yes," he said, elbows propped on his tail, and head in his hands. "Then the sky turned black. Blacker than any ink a squid could produce, and the ocean grew restless. Drops of sea fell from the sky, and light flashed white across everything! And then the earth rumbled so loud, like a roar that could shake our home itself!"

While Arthur wore a cheeky smile, his sister was awestruck. Their noses were almost touching, and if they had been human he was sure he would be able to feel her breath on his face. The way she stared at him was undeniably cute, and a part of the merman felt bad that he did not know her name. She grinned at him then. Taking his arms, the black-haired beauty spun him around and around. "That sounds amazing!" she tittered gleefully. "Oh, I'm ever so glad your first time above the waves held such wonders!"

"Yeah," he chuckled, "I am too."

Once they stopped, the mermaid ran her fingers through her long, thick hair. Her cheeks were tinged pink, and her eyes were aglow with sheer joy. Arthur was suddenly blown away at how real these fictional characters were. In front of him floated a living, breathing being. Touching his skin with hers. Solid. Arthur's respect for stories and books grew exponentially, and he vowed to treat them with better care in the future.

"I am still worried for you."

"Hm?"

She gestured to his tail. "Grandmother will surely give you a wretched tongue lashing."

Smiling wryly, he waved it off. "I can take it." Nothing could be worse than Evan's angry rants. They did not happen often, but when they did it was bad.

Unsure, she weakly nodded. "I'm going to go back to the castle. Would you care to join me?"

Shaking his head, Arthur declined. "No. I'd like to stay out here a while longer."

Tilting her head, she nodded. "Okay, I will see you soon, then." Biting her lip, the mermaid waved and turned to swim away. Away from Arthur and his garden. A contentedness filled the Brit, and he knew a part of him would miss this place when he got home. Maybe he could find the spell that got him here, and visit again? Storing that thought in the back of his head for later, he turned to more important plans. Like finding the sea witch.

Part of him knew which direction to go. The fish part to be precise. It was like he knew the whole ocean, and could find his way to anywhere. He could feel the currents whisper to him, and the water guide him like a mother. Nonexistent hands pushed him opposite of the palace, and he took off swimming. Further and further he traveled, an uncomfortable twist in his stomach growing. Warning bells blared in his head, shrieking at him to stop and go back. That, along with how hot the water was turning, was proof that he was going the right way. Arthur pushed on.

Along with the heat, the water was getting more treacherous. Soon the merman came upon a cluster of enormous whirlpools. From the tips of the waves, they reached down, down, down into the unfathomable depths. Swirling round and round, Arthur was certain that he would not be able to escape if one got ahold of him. Looking around, there was no visible way he could bypass them. They circled around a single point, which was the witches home, no doubt.

Luckily there was enough room between them to traverse safely. As long as he was careful, he would be okay. Swimming towards what looked like the widest gap, he dove in. Arthur knew it would be a bad idea to slow down or stop. That would give the rushing waters just the edge to drag him in. Emerald eyes were set on his path, and his tail beat powerfully, propelling him to safety. Throughout the whole ordeal Arthur had to keep his body steady, because the ludicrous currents were doing everything they could to flip him about. But he swam true, and made it past the barrier.

Laying in front of him was an unimpressive road. Unlike the ethereal blue sand of his kingdom, here it was ugly, gray, bubbling mud. Like a bog, and at the end of this bog there was what looked to be a dark forest. Arthur swallowed thickly at that, wanting to go anywhere but there. As he cruised down the path, a certain stench hit him. Crinkling his nose, he suddenly questioned how he could smell underwater to begin with. Not until now has he thought about it, but thinking back he recalls his garden smelling just a little sweet. There were no powerful smells; more like diluted scents. This place did smell foul, but not harshly enough to be a bother. It was only unpleasant.

Approaching the forest, Arthur knew what to expect. Still, the sight made his stomach churn. Rows and rows of dark colored polypi stretched out like a wicked wood. Some of them even towering over the male like trees. Half-animal, half-plant, the creatures extended their twisted arms in every direction. What looked like slim, tiny fingers stretched out around their mouths, grasping at empty ocean fruitlessly. Some of the polypi did have things to cling to. All manners of objects could be seen among them, ranging from pieces of cloth, to wooden planks, to glittering treasures from sunken ships. He saw one group had a full skeleton of another merperson, sending fearful shivers up his spine. If these things got purchase of him, he would be trapped. Taking a deep breath, and wrapping his arms around his sides, Arthur dashed through the grotesque foliage. He thought one of them touched him, but his adrenaline was running too high that he could not be sure. Fortunately it was not a deep forest, and he made it through quickly.

Panting and clenching his pounding heart, Arthur chanced a glance over his shoulder. It looked like all of the polypi were reaching for him, and he backed away even more. Taking a moment to get himself together, the merman took a deep breath. He was glad he was getting more used to breathing underwater. Once ready, he studied what was now put before him. More gross, muddy moore. This time dank colored sea snakes were swimming around, rolling in the mud like it was a spa treatment. Beady eyes turned to him, smiling with short, sharp teeth. In the middle of this stood what Arthur assumed to be a house. It was completely crafted of the bones from drowned humans. A shot of sympathy went through the Brit, but his attention was diverted to an opening in the structure.

Sitting there was the sea witch, idly plucking the eyeballs out of a dead frog and putting them into a jar. Her skin was murky, graying, and generously dotted with moles and warts. Her form was of a heavyset cecaelia, large breasts resting on her stomach as thick tentacles swayed around the small abode. The female's salt and pepper hair was chopped short, like she took a knife to it without any pretense. As unattractive as she was, she carried herself with all of the confidence and grace of a queen.

Black eyes turned to Arthur as he approached. Big lips pursed, as her expression was troubled. The sorceress examined Arthur, picking him apart piece by piece. Watching with steel, the merman stood tall. A noise rose from the back of the witch's throat, and she took a bite out of the remaining frog, jagged teeth easily shredding the meat and snapping the tiny bones.

"You are not supposed to be here," she stated with a frown. Blood swirled around them like crimson smoke, and she swallowed the rest of the frog.

Honestly, it surprised Arthur. This was a storybook character, but she knew. She knew that he was not a part of this universe. Meaning she would help him. "No, I'm not." Coming in more, he sat on the rough ground in front of the octopus woman. "I came here in hopes you could help. Myself and another were sent here with no recollection of how, and we need to get back home."

"Indeed you do," she agreed, voice low and raspy. Pursing her lips in thought, she lit up and grabbed something from a shelf. An emerald gaze scanned those shelves, interested in the bottles and jars full of ghastly looking ingredients. It was very interesting. What the witch had grabbed, though, was not ghastly at all. It was an oval mirror, beautiful and framed by intricately crafted gold. "This is a very powerful object. It is said that there is one special mirror in every world that is a link to all other worlds. This is this world's mirror." She handed it to him, and Arthur gazed upon it in wonder. He had never heard of such an artifact, but their magical community was disgustingly secretive.

Then something stirred inside of him. Familiar magic trickled through his fingertips. Feeling his own world's magic made his breath hitch, and his heart pound. To his body, the magic felt strange, but it was the magic he knew, and it comforted him more than anything else could. The sorceress kept a respectful distance, but watched on with interest. Summoning the power of the mirror, Arthur focused everything he had on his home. His reflection began to shine, and disappeared altogether in a golden ray. Slowly, an image faded in. To be exact, the image of his bathroom, and Evan's half-asleep face brushing his teeth lazily.

"Evan!" shouted the Englishman excitedly, causing his housemate to jump back, slip, and hit his head on the wall.

Groaning, the Welshman straightened up while rubbing the back of his head. His toothbrush had fallen to the floor, and he picked it up before glaring at Arthur. Arthur assumed that he was seeing him through the medicine cabinet's mirror, but doubted that was the dimensional mirror of their world. "Sorry," he said, and Evan's surprised expression did not escape his notice, "but I'm in a predicament at the moment and we need help." Evan was still staring, and Arthur wrinkled his nose in displeasure. "Could you wash your mouth out? There's toothpaste smeared across your face."

Blinking back into reality, brown brows furrowed as the man rinsed his mouth out. Dabbing his face dry, Evan leaned in close to the reflection. "Arthur? How are you doing this?"

"Magic mirror," he said matter of factly. "Now listen, somehow Alastair and I were sent into The little Mermaid story, we don't have our magic, and we have no idea how to get home." Sighing heavily, Arthur still could not find the words to express how relieved he was. "Actually, getting ahold of you has lifted a lot of weight off my shoulders. I was... I really thought we would be stuck here forever... You have no idea how good it is to see you."

Waiting for a response, Arthur felt a pit grow in his belly. Something wasn't right. Scratching his nose, Evan avoided eye contact and shifted his weight. All bad signs. The blonde's smile slowly fell from his face. "Well," drawled Evan, still not looking at him, "I already knew all that..."

Arthur's lips thinned. "Do you now?" he asked lowly, cursing his young body for lessening how intimidating he should have been. "Then you're looking for a way to bring us back, right?"

"Not exactly... since I did send you two...there..." He laughed nervously, scratching his chin.

And oh, if Arthur was not holding a very precious item, he would have flung it across the room by now. "You what?" he growled lowly. Slowly.

The Welshman's shoulders slumped, and a pout grew from his lips. "It's not like you're gonna be stuck there forever!" he defended, propping his hands on his hips. "Just until you end the story!"

Breath catching, Arthur's eyes widened in alarm. Staring at his housemate, he shook his head. "Evan," he whispered, and then practically pressed his nose against the glass. "You fucking idiot, this story ends with me dying!" His breathing grew quicker, and he felt like he was going to cry. What was that idiot thinking?!

Before he could completely freak out, the other was waving his hands back and forth frantically. "No, no! It doesn't have to be the actual ending!" When Arthur gave him a questioning look, quiet but still hyped up on fearful adrenaline, he continued."It just has to be a definite ending of any kind! Whatever you want, as long as it's an unmistakable end. And even if you both died, which I don't recommend, you'll be fine! Your bodies are both here, I swear!"

Scowling, the merman took a deep breath. "So what? you thought it would be funny to send our consciousnesses here?" Arthur was angry, and every passing moment thinking just fueled his rage. If he could he would have punched Evan in the face right then, and not feel the least bit sorry for it.

But the Welshman glared at him, mouth frowning deeply. "Of course not! There is a reason you arse!"

"A reason?"

"Yeah."

"What's the reason then? What did I do to deserve this?"

"It's not always just about you, Arthur!" Evan exploded, truly angry. It cooled Arthur down, since he was usually the peacekeeper. "You know, you're a selfish little shit. You really are. It's like you don't even care about the rest of us! And you're always getting into stupid fucking fights with Alastair, who's a lazy bum! You both need to grow the fuck up! I did this so you two would learn a lesson. What lesson? I don't know, so you better figure it out if you ever want to come back, and until you do your bodies are gonna rot here while the rest of us are enjoying each other without having to tiptoe around you two!" Panting and red in the face, Evan gave one last glare before marching out of the room.

Speechless. Arthur was utterly speechless. Evan's furiousity only fueled the sickness that had been ailing his stomach all day. Was this... guilt? Maybe. It was also anger and humiliation. A bad combination, and Arthur barely registered the cecaelia plucking the mirror from his stiff grip. His head was swimming more than the fish around them. Was he really so much of a bother? Since he mostly stayed in the basement, he could not see why. Yeah he and Alastair got into petty fights, but it was not that often! Right..? Not that they're his fault! Alastair was the one who always started them. It was all Alastair's fault, so why was he the one being blamed?

Because it's not all his fault, a small voice whispered in the back of his head.

He pushed the voice away. Of course it was Alastair's fault! If he would just get off his arse and do something, there would not be so much of a problem! But no, he just sat there like a lump, complaining about asinine things and doing nothing fulfilling with his life. Expecting everyone to do his bidding, drinking the days away. It was bullshit, and that's why Arthur could not keep his mouth shut whenever he came upstairs only to see the redhead loitering about.

You're just worried about him, that voice whispered again. He ignored it.

"So, what is going on with that no doubt fascinating brain of yours?" asked the sorceress, a calculating quirk to her lips. A snake slithered down her arm. Silent, the blonde only sighed. "Hmm.." Inching closer, she grabbed his skin with rough, chubby fingers, and locked eyes with him. "The resolution to your problem sounds simple, and I am willing to help you in whatever way I can."

As Arthur calmed, he let out another large breath. Patting her hand, he smiled weakly. "Thank you, You are a kind being."  
Shrugging, she smirked and pushed him out of the skeletal enclosure. "I do not like this imbalance. The sooner you two go back to your own world, the better for all worlds."

Shaking his head, Arthur smirked back at her. "You can say that." Before she could retaliate, he spoke up once more. "Right, I'm going to go and tell Alastair about this then. I will need your help, but not now. I'm sure you'll know when I do, won't you?" Her answer was a sharp, knowing smile. With that, the merman swam off. Back through the dangerous polypi and whirlpools. The sun was not visible in these deep waters, but as he got closer and closer to the surface, he could see that familiar amethyst flower guiding him. Being darker than usual, Arthur assumed that it was close to nighttime. When he breached the waves, it had already sunk into the horizon. The moon was covered by thick clouds, making it near impossible to make out the shore.

Suddenly something painful hit his skull, causing the Briton to cry out and defensively dive underwater. A small amount of blood swirled in front of Arthur, and he gingerly pressed against the wound. Peeking above the sea foam, he heard a high pitched noise above him, and looked up. Flying above was a small white bird. It was eyeing him with intent, and dove down for another attack. Arthur evaded this one, but noticed the bird was acting strange. It flew back and forth in a line, diving at him again before repeating the process.

Realizing the avian wanted him to follow, Arthur bit his lip carefully. He didn't remember a bird being part of the story, but figured it could not hurt to go along with it. Maybe it would show him a way to get back home? Right now even dying did not sound so bad if it meant he would wake up in his own bed with two legs. But something told him not to take the easy way out. That to truly make an end to this story, he would need to learn a lesson of some kind. What other reasons would there be to write such a work in the first place? Discouraged, Arthur followed the annoying white bird to wherever it lead.

.:.:.:.:.

Alastair was sitting at the bottom of the great marble staircase, his bare feet dipped into the shallow water. It felt nice. Not just the cool water, but being outside at all. All day he had been pampered and fussed over, and such attention made him feel uncomfortable and small. Earlier when he approached the palace, he was told he looked and smelt of Hell, and had promptly been put in a hot bath and scrubbed clean. From then on he was put in a soft sleeping gown, and forced to keep to his bed. Doctors checked on him every hour, and slaves attended to his every need (not that he asked for much). It was all too much since his only ailment was drowsiness, and had escaped the moment he saw a chance.

The moon was high, and Arthur was still not there. He hoped everything went well with the witch. The Scotsman prayed there was a way to get back home. He missed his house, and the others, and even Brian's shitty cooking. The royal life was fun for a day or two, but it quickly became too much for him to bear. A simple cramped house was all he wanted.  
A trickle caught his attention. Turning his head, Alastair saw the top of Arthur's blonde head poking from the water. Green eyes peering at him and yellow fringe plastered to his forehead. He swam closer, and slowly lifted the rest of his head from the water. Bags curved below his eyes, and Alastair wanted to put him to bed and tell him to sleep. "Hey," he greeted instead.

"Hi." Arthur glided over, crossing his arms on the bottom step and resting his head on them. "How was your day?"

He shrugged. It would be a bad idea to admit that he had been doing nothing but lay in a comfortable bed all day. Which was odd, since normally he would rub something like that in Arthur's face. Thinking about what he was going to say was strange, but it made him feel better about... something. He wasn't quite sure what, but it was a good thing. The less uncalled for, jerkish jabs he made, the less fights they would get into. "Not much," he decided on. "Everyone went crazy when I showed up. Said I was bruised and my clothes were ruined, but were happy I was alive."

Silently nodding, Alastair could see Arthur's eyes were drooping and slightly bloodshot. Then he felt a light weight on his shoulder, and smiled. Rather than comment on the other's appearance, he decided on a different topic. "Hey, you met my new pet, right?"

"That headache is your pet?" he asked unamusedly, glaring at it perched on his shoulder.

"Yeah! I rescued 'im from this bigger bird before I got to the castle, and after that it wouldn't stop following me around. Named him Alba. 'S a smart little guy too! I told him to go and look for you, and he did!" He gently pet the soft white feathers, laughing once in his throat when Alba nuzzled his finger.

Arthur snorted. "Whatever you say."

Rolling his eyes, the redhead shifted. Solid marble was not the most comfortable substance to sit on. "So, did you get to meet that witch you were talkin' about?" Letting out a puff of air, the Englishman nodded. "And..?" Alastair prodded when he didn't get anything more.

Groaning, Arthur let his head completely drop into his arms. After a couple of minutes making agitated noises, he sighed and looked up at the prince. "You're not going to like what I found out." This immediately sent Alastair's heart to his stomach and throat at the same time. "There is a way to get back home." Blinking, Alastair leaned closer to Arthur, resting his arms on his lap.

Then Arthur recollected his visit. Each sentence sent a different emotion across the redhead's face. Arthur's lovely voice was monotone as he told the story, showing just how emotional he had been during the experience, and how much it had drained him. He finished in a clipped manner, and stayed still and silent. But Alastair was heated and fuming. How could Evan do that to them? It was completely uncalled for! If they really did fight so much, which he doubted, they could have tried something a little less drastic first! Like an intervention! That's the first step to solving any problem that had gotten out of hand! But to send himself and Arthur to a completely different universe against their will? That was going too far.

And it's not like it was his fault. Arthur was a prick, and Alastair just wanted to live his life in peace. But Arthur, the perpetually annoyed bugger he was, always found ways to start fights. Always shooting rude comments to the Scot, and giving dirty looks. He couldn't even remember the last time he said something nice about him! The younger man would lock himself away for days, and in the few hours he would spend upstairs he would insult Alastair at least once. Anyone would get angry when the person you're supposed to care for calls you nothing but harsh names whenever he sees you!

Thinking about it only angered him further. "We wouldn't be in this mess if you weren't such a little prick," he grumbled.

That snapped the other awake, and he glowered venomously. "Excuse me?" he spat, rising from his slumped position.

"Did I stutter? You're a fucking arsehole!" Scoffing, he looked down on the merman. "You can't say a word ta me without it being 'n insult!"

"I do not!" he argued, voice high in indignation. Alastair only rolled his eyes. "And at least I'm actually productive! I have an actual job to do. A job that can affect the entire world, unlike you. When was the last time you did anything but drink and sit on the bloody sofa?"

"I always do things!" yelled the Scotsman, getting red in the neck. "I keep the God damned house clean, I cook ninety percent of the time, I usually go to th' store when we need things, I help the others whenever they need it; I do a lot of shit, but you'd never know, would you? Staying in that damned basement all day!"

Seething, Arthur stayed quiet. He grit his teeth, glaring through emerald slits. "I don't need this right now," he growled lowly. The lack of a rebuttal took Alastair off guard, but his frown only deepened.

"What, no snappy comeback? No telling me how worthless I am? How I'm a worthless piece of shit? A waste of space?"

"Shut. Up," Arthur hissed, pushing off the slick marble. He opened his mouth, then closed it and shook his head. "Just shut up." With one last sorrowful, dark glare, he disappeared under the water, making sure to splash Alastair with a harsh slap of his tail on the surface before it calmed. If it were not for his read face and sopping clothes, it would have been like Arthur was never there.

Growling, he stood, flipped the sea off, and stomped up the stairs, swearing heavily under his breath. He would put on more comfortable clothes, slip back into his big, soft, warm bed, and feel good that the little prick doesn't get such luxuries in the freezing ocean.

And he would definitely not keep himself up all night, hurt that they had yet another fight, wallowing in misery and drowning in the pained, ephemeral glare Arthur had given him.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.

I'm sorry I'm really bad at writing arguments. orz

There should only be one more part after this. Crossing my fingers that my life stabilizes a little so I can get it done quicker.

Until then~


End file.
